 | Pelopidas ; Or, The Deliverance of Thebes |  |
ACT III.
Scene I.
—A room in the house of Archias.(Archias and Philip are seated at a table with Philidas, the secretary to the tyrants.)
Philip.
Come, Archias; now break off. I think we've wrought
Enough for one day's labor. How's the morning?
Archias.
Philip, 'tis yet two hours of noon.
Philip.
So late?
I cannot stay then, for the games begin
Betimes to-day,—and I've a heavy stake
On my new Spartan wrestler.
Archias.
But a heavier
On that we have in hand. Wait but an hour,
And I'll go with you. We'll send word to stay
The games till we shall come.—
(Enter a Servant.)
Well—what's thy errand?
Servant.
A messenger, my lord, is here to say
His master, the lord Leontiades,
From Sparta is arriv'd; and, in brief space,
Will call upon you.
Archias.
Say we wait his pleasure:—
Philip and I.
Philip.
And that our zealous love
Makes us impatient to behold him soon.
Serv.
I will, my lords.—There's one below who waits
Your pleasure touching certain state affairs
Of moment,—so he says.
Philip.
We will not hear him.
Bid him attend to-morrow.
Archias.
Stay—who is he?
Serv.
'Tis an old man who has before been here;
A thin, quick-motion'd, hasty-speaking man.—
'Tis our old tailor, Philip:—we must see him.
Philip.
Well—show him up.
Serv.
I will, my lord.
Archias.
And stay.
Let some one go, and bid them stop the games
Till Philip shall arrive.
Serv.
It shall be done.
[Exit.
Archias.
I think 'twere, Philidas, the better course,—
Our colleague being come,—that you pen down
Of our proceedings, since his going hence,
A brief report:—together with a scroll
Of such whose names, as traitors to the state,
We have this morning noted.
Philidas.
Good, my lord—
I know the Archon's temper,—and, even now,
Am busied as you wish.
(Enter Abas.)
Philip.
Well, Abas—well—
What brings thee here this morning? Hast thou found
New game for us to strike?
Abas.
In good sooth have I, my lords. Here be six names
of men whose evil dispositions, as I find on most trustless
evidence,—might inflame the best-rooted government,—bring
death, and foul distemperation to its purest strongholds,—yea!
and cause it to suffer shipwreck to its lowest foundations—as I
have heard your lordships say many a time and oft.
Philip.
Hast thou, good Abas? Thou grow'st eloquent.
Mark, Archias, this great danger! Here be men
That shall inflame the roots of government—
Its strongholds kill,—and shipwreck its foundations!—
Was't not so, Abas?
Abas.
Yes, my lord.
Philip.
Thou'lt come
Erelong to th' Archonship. Such minds as thine
Where men can gaze upon them.
Archias.
Are they rich?
Abas.
Yes—yes, my lord,—trust me there, my lord. I
know all that befits a good traitor:—all rich but one, who is a
tailor; and, I can affirm to your lordships, a most dangerful and
treason-begetting fellow,—and his name is Borus.
Archias.
Then, Philidas, take down the other five,
And let this Borus 'scape;—or be reprov'd
And, after, pardon'd. Such a lenience shews
A justice in our measures, which some tongues
Have tax'd for harshness.
Abas.
Pardon me, my lord! Rather than this one should
escape, 'twere better you let go all the others. If you would
not trust a wolf in your sheepfold, or a lion in your nursery—
trust not such a villain in Thebes. I don't know this varlet's
fellow.—Would you believe it, lords, that I have now scarce
three thimbles at work,—for honesty and loyalty are but ill-liked
in this undutiful city,—whereas this most foul and disloyal
knave—
Philip.
Well,—well, good Abas—give us now their names,
With what offence 'gainst each you have to shew,—
And we'll consider it.
Abas.
Here, my lords, be their fair names foully written
down,—with their abodes;—and I'll beseech your lordships to
look well after them, for they threaten instruction to the state.
Archias.
Here, Philidas; take thou the scroll, and read,
One after one the names;—and then, 'gainst each,
Note down, as they shall come, th' offences charged.
Philidas.
The first i' th' scroll is Acamus—is't not?
Abas.
It is. And after it you shall find that he dwelleth
beside the temple of Vulcan.
Philidas.
Tem-ple—of Vul-can. So it is, I think.
Abas.
Oh yes, sir. You shall find it, anon, a very audible
hand: and, thank God, I hope the geography is pretty incorrect:
the circumlocution is all my own.
I make no doubt on't. Now, sir—the offence?
Abas.
Why, my lords, for a particular offence,—I do suspect
him indefinitely of treasonable distentions:—but my more
distracted, and general charge, shall be that he did traitorously,
and feloniously, aid and assist in counsel, and money, a certain
traitorous and condemn'd wretch, who, by your wise and merciful
reward, was fined and thereafter banished.—This, my lords,
I take to be a traitorous and felonious flying in face of all ill-regulated
governments, and leading to the—
Archias.
Stay—stay: we must be brief. Against that name
Write ‘traitor’—'tis but short,—yet long enough
To make him shorter.—Go on, Philidas.
Philidas.
The next is Maris, of the Athens' gate.
What charge 'gainst him?
Abas.
Why, my lords, to save you time and trouble, I should
wish to make against these five, briefly, and tediously, the same
particular charge of treason; which, as I take it, reprehends in
itself all others. I did begin, most indubitably, to suspicion
their loyalty and sound principles when,—forsaking me,—I
found them, to the best of their power, comforting and encouraging
that most traitorous and vile, and disloyal, and evil-minded
Borus;—that disgrace to our calling—whom I beseech
you, as you love the wicked, and hate the virtuous, to banish
from this city,—yea, rather to destroy from off the face of this
goodly earth.
Philidas.
Your charge seems somewhat loose. Have you no act
That more directly, and precisely points
At this great guilt?
Abas.
Why really, sir, and my lords,—if to be disloyal and
treasonable be not to be traitorous, I know of nothing else
that is so. If to call a man ‘traitor’ and ‘traitorous’ be not
an indirect and precise way of pointing him out for a treasonable
person, I must be content, having no looser charge to
make:—would to God I had, if I might thereby pleasure your
lordships. But what, my lords, is to be thought of persons
that bear about them, in the very cut and fashion of their garments,
the proof of their being assisting to, and connected
peaceable government,—but that they are themselves foul, and
disloyal, and traitorous persons?—and for such, my lords, do I
here inscribe them. If this proof do not satisfy you, my lords,
—why, let them go,—and take note of the consequence.
Archias.
They are rich,—you say?
Abas.
Rich as Phœnician merchants!
Archias.
Then mark them, Philidas. We cannot stand
In things like these too nicely upon proof.—
'Tis sworn against them;—that's enough.—And Abas,
If, in the picking, they should prove as fat
As you have weigh'd them to us,—you shall pick
This Borus for yourself.
Abas.
I expected no less, my lords, from your love of justice,
and merciless ministration to your humble friends and followers.
My lords, I do thank you, and humbly take my leave:—and I
hope I shall seem presuming in that I take it upon me to
advise that you summon and seize before the goose cools. I
have always found a stitch afore breakfast worth an hour's
elbowing after dinner.—My lords, your humble slave.
(About to leave, but lingers.)
(Enter a Servant.)
Servant.
Three handicrafts men of Thebes, my lords,
demand admittance to your presence on important matters.
Philip.
Let them come in.
More accusations, I suppose. Our hives this morning will
yield store of honey. . . . Archias,—a word.
(They whisper.)
Abas
(aside).
What three men be these, I marvel;—three
handicrafts fellows, he said. What can be their business here,
—meddling with government matters? I'll stay and amuse
myself with their ignorant appurtenance.
(He retires to the side of the room.)
(Enter three Artisans.)
Archias.
Well, my masters:—what is your pleasure with us?
1st Artisan.
Oh, my lord—no pleasure at all, my lord:—
treasons and traitorous persons.
Abas
(aside).
Why, what in the name of all the infernal
deities, and the convocation of the immortal gods above us,
—can those two rascals have to do here?—I left them three
under-garments to finish afore noon. I'll prick the villains
for this.
Archias.
Well, my friends,—who are these traitors?—give
us their names, and abodes. But, first, who are you?—what
are your names and employments?
1st Artisan.
My lord, if you will allow me to speak for
myself in such a matter, why truly my name is Telamon;—
and I cannot confess to deny that I am more than a cobbler
by trade;—though it may be, if the fates had thought indifferently,
I might have been unfit for something better.
Philip.
Telamon is thy name?
Telamon.
At your lordship's pleasure.
Philip.
Aught of kin to Ajax Telamon think'st thou?
Telamon.
My lord, I do not know the man. What manner
of man is he?
Philip.
Why, he was a great hero, and fought at Troy: and
his exploits are recorded in the Iliad of the wondrous Homer.
Telamon.
Why then, my lord, I think it's like enough I
may be of kin to him, tho' I don't remember that Ajax,—for I
am myself somewhat given to be a hero, and have had many a
tough fight in my time; though I don't know that they have
been anywhere recorded as yet, unless, maybe, in the judgment-books
of the magistrates;—but I suppose, my lord, that's
not the same thing as the wondrosomo you talked of in his
eyelid.
Philip.
Not precisely. Now, Telamon, what is your charge?
Telamon.
Why, my lord, in the second place I'll tell you
first of all right how things fell out.
Archias.
Do so,—but briefly.
Telamon.
Thank you, my lord; but I hope I know my
grow brief, I trust your lordships will disdain to correct me.
Philip.
Come then, Telamon,—despatch.
Telamon.
Then to conclude. First of all, my lords, you
shall understand that I owe certain sums of money to one
Palmus, a bad traitor, and a leather-seller.
Philip.
Good!
Telamon.
By your favour, my lord, I think not. I misdoubt
it to be good, forasmuch as I owe it to this bad traitor,
and moreover disafflicted person. But that's as your lordship
pleases: it's not for men like me to say what's good, and what
isn't good,—except in the matter of a shoe or so. Mark you
now the upshot. Says Talmus to me, ‘Pay me the money
you owe me;—pay me the money—you idle, drunken rascal.’
—I'm not calling your lordship such foul libations;—God forbid
I should have so much decency!—that's what Palmus says
to me. ‘Pay me the money,’ says he,—‘pay me the money,—
you idle, drunken rascal,’—meaning me, my lord.
Philip.
Hard words, Telamon! hard words! and very unmerited,
I don't doubt.
Telamon.
Just as your lordship says: hard words and very
unmelodious. And so I thought,—and with that, up gets I
with my hammer in my hand, and says I—‘Palmus’—says I—
‘I suspect you,’ says I, ‘to be a traitor,’ says I, ‘and a treasonable
person,’ says I, ‘and a disafflicted,’ says I,—and, says I,
‘I'll import you to the Archons,’ says I:—and with that I
knocked him down with my hammer, and he had not a word
to say for himself; he was somehow clean conscience-struck
with the way in which I defended myself.
Philip.
I don't wonder at it. You must certainly have
descended from Ajax,—for he was a great dealer in the same
kind of argument. Did you not also throw your lapstone at
him in imitation of your great ancestor?
Telamon.
No, my lord. It appear'd unreasonable to think
there was no necessity for that,—for he never stirred more.
The Fates had cut his thread, and a rotten one it must have
ha' given and taken hundreds of such keepsakes, and never
the worse for them.
Philip.
Then I suppose, Telamon, you have come to deliver
yourself up to justice, and to meet your reward?
Telamon.
Your lordship's very kind,—and that's just it.
For, says I to myself,—‘Here's a great traitor killed,—and
who did the job?—Why, who should have done it but thee,
Telamon, thyself. Pluck up heart therefore’—says I to myself,
—‘pluck up heart, Telamon, and get thee before the merciless
and ungrateful Archons, and ask of them the reward of thy
virtue in killing and slaying a bad and treasonable traitor.’
And what reward will they give thee, Telamon?’ says I to
myself—‘what reward will they give thee?—Why, to be
sure,’ says I to myself, ‘what can they do less than give thee
the traitor's goods and chattels,—house, garden, and stock in
trade,—whatsoever that may be?—Thou hast killed a traitor,
hast thou not?’ says I to myself,—‘and what less can they give
thee?’ And so, my lords, here I am, and I trust your lordships
will receive me to be an honest and peaceful and loyal
subject, and worthy of discouragement and just reward.
Philip.
Why, truly, Telamon, thou art worthy of reward.
Telamon.
Thank your lordship. I'll go and seize in the
turning of an awl.
Philip.
Stay, Telamon, I have not told thee what reward.
We have a law which saith; ‘he that killeth another shall
himself be put to death.’ How shouldst thou approve of that
reward?
Telamon.
Odsbodikins! my lord, that's good joke! Hang
a man for killing a traitor? Then what would become of you,
my lords, that have killed scores? But I like to see you
merry, my lord. Ha—ha—: hanged for killing a traitor!
Ha—ha!
Archias.
Fellow!—remember before whom you stand!
The awful throne of justice must not be
A place for fools and jesters. If thou 'scape
Black-muzzled dog!—and learn more reverence.
[Exit Telamon.
Now, fellows—what's your errand? Speak!
2nd Artisan
(after a pause).
Truly, my lord, I have no
speech for myself.
Archias.
Then who speaks for thee, fellow? Answer me,
Or get you hence.
(The two Artisans bow low, and are going away.)
Philip.
Stay—stay, my masters. Archias, you're too rough;
Let me examine them.
Archias.
Just as you please.
Philip.
Come here, my little men, and pluck up heart:
No harm is meant you, Now speak up, and freely.
What would you with us?
1st Artisan
(after a pause).
Truly, my lord, I have no
speech for myself.
Philip.
Why, I am sure thou hast a great soul lodged in
that little body. Thou hast a hero's dimensions compressed
into a space of four foot by one. Nature designed thee for a
warrior, and a leader of armies, and thou know'st it not. So
the diamond sees not its own splendour, while the world beside
gazes upon it.—Dost thou not feel great aspirations within
thee?—Speak. Art thou not ambitious? Hast thou not a
noble and untamable spirit?—Speak boldly,—Would'st thou
not delight to make the desert lions thy playfellows?—and the
Rhinoceros and the Leviathan of the great deep, the companions
of thy leisure hours?—Speak—speak—I wait for thee.
1st Artisan.
I think I should, my lord. But truly, my
lord, I have no speech for myself.
Philip.
Why, there it is. Thus doth Nature compensate
for the richness of one faculty by the poverty of another. Thy
valour hath swallowed up thy tongue! Thy soul is in thy
right arm. Thou only livest when dealing death about thee.
What is thy name?
1st Artisan.
Agamemnon, my lord.
Did I not tell thee thou wert a hero, and a leader
of armies? Was not Agamemnon king of kings?—the head
of all Greece?—the soul of all her warriors?—Thy name becometh
thee, and thou it. Methinks I could have known thy
name untold,—had I but given thought to it,—so doth its
majesty correspond to the nobleness of thy qualities.—Agamemnon!—
Why, the very sound is breathed, as it were from
the arch of thy forehead!—The angels of thy elbows point it
to the eye! Thou art little less than a demi-god;—would
thou hadst a tongue!—But come thou, the second, and scarce
less august.—Thou wilt bless our years with the mellifluence of
thy accents. What is it you would with us? Speak!—
2nd Artisan
(after a pause).
Truly, my lord, I have no
speech for myself.
Philip.
Come, come:—deceive me not.—I see by the curve
of thy leg,—thy brawny calf,—and the intolerable flashing of
thine eye, that thou art an orator, and a law-giver by nature,—
and, withal, vindictive and terrible in battle.—What is thy
name?
2nd Artisan.
Achilles, my lord. My father's name is
Nestor,—and I have a little brother called Hector.
Philip.
I should think so. It cannot be otherwise. Why,
thou must have in thee the united virtues and greatnesses of
all thy illustrious namesakes. Agamemnon is thy elder brother,
is he not?
Achilles.
Yes, my lord: and Telamon is my cousin;—and
I have a little sister called Diomed.
Philip.
Indeed! But it might be expected:—for what
should such a band of heroes and demi-gods care for gender,
when they set number at defiance; and only laugh at their
pitiful case! Your cousin Telamon is a bold and resolute man
I think;—is he not?
Telamon
(peeping in at the door).
As bold and deliverant
a fellow, my lord, though I infirm it, as ever hammered leather:
and if your lordships would but give me a dismission to come
in, I would tack the whole matter together for you in the splitting
of a bristle.
Hath he your dismission, Archias?
Archias.
So he remember in what place he stands,
He may advance. Till Leontidas come,
The time is ours to fool it as we will.
Philip.
Advance then, Telamon: but hold thy peace
Till I shall question thee.
Telamon.
Thank your lordship. I never make it a rule to
open my mouth to no man till he opens his mouth to me, and
then—
Philip.
Telamon! I bade thee to keep silent.
Telamon.
I crave your lordship's pardon; and will be as
quiet as a lapstone.
Philip.
When it is well hammered, I suppose. Come now,
Achilles:—thou terror of battlefields! thou who, invulnerable
thyself, save on the heel,—carriest wounds and death to thousands!
But stay: hast thou not been, perchance, a second
time dipped in Styx?—and art thou not now from crown to
toe impenetrable as adamant? Shew me thy heel.—In truth
thy armour there is none of the best; it gapeth horribly!
Thou must be conscious of impassibility. Let us put it to the
proof.
(He pricks the Artisan's heel with the point of his sword.)
Achilles.
Oh!—oh!—oh! my lord!
Telamon.
For shame, Achilles! My lord's only going to
lacerate you a bit! for shame, man! for shame!
Achilles.
Truly, Telamon, I like not such macerations.
I will depart.
Telamon.
Then will I strap thee till thou forget thy name,
and the son that bore thee. Listen to my lord—thou needle's-eye;
and answer as he shall forbid thee.
Philip.
Telamon—Telamon! Thy ancestor was a mighty
man, but spare of speech. Copy him in that, I beseech thee.
Telamon.
Indeed, my lord, I also am a mighty man, and I
trust, at most times, have a speech to spare as well as he.—
I've done, my lord!—
Now Agamemnon, and Achilles, speak; what is it
you would have of us?
Achilles.
So please your lordship, Telamon shall tell.
Philip.
Nay—but I'd rather hear it from yourselves. What
is't you fear?
Achilles.
We come, my lord, to speak against our master,
and if we should speak ourselves he would prick us for it.
Abas
(aside).
Oh! you vermin! you are come to speak
against me, are you? And truly I will prick you, and sharply
too.
Philip.
What! Achilles and Agamemnon fear to be pricked!
You are tailors—are you not?
Agam.
No, my lord,—only tailor's men.
Philip.
Well then! be men as well as tailors. Speak but
boldly, and I will protect you.
Achilles.
In sooth, my lord?
Philip.
Yea, most magnanimous! in very sooth!
Achilles.
Then, my lord, I announce my master to be a
traitor to this government,—and a hard master to boot!
Telamon.
Well done, Achilles! thou'rt a brave fellow:—
let them hear a bit of thy mind.
Philip.
Silence, Ajax!
Telamon.
Telamon, so please you, my lord.
Philip.
Go on, Achilles:—you need not fear your master.
But you often uncage your fierce thoughts upon him, I dare
say.
Achilles.
My lord, we don't value him a button. 'Tisn't
more than three years since we told him, if he didn't advance
us two-pence a week wages, we'd dismiss him.
Philip.
Ha!—you are men of mettle, I perceive. And did
he advance you the two pence?
Achilles.
No, my lord.
Philip.
And what did you then?
Why, we told him, my lord—or at least we got
Telamon to tell him—that we thought he might be ashamed
of himself.
Philip.
Bless us! That must have been about the time of
the great earthquake. But now go on. Your master is a
traitor, you say. What hath he done—or said—or contemplated
to do?
Achilles.
Why, my lord, he hath said two or three times in
my hearing, and in Agamemnon's to boot, that your lordship,
and Archias, and Leontidas were worthy men—and that he
had good cause to respect you—and he called you, moreover,
true parrots.
Agam.
No, Achilles—it was worse than that! he called
them ‘true patriots!’ and we've hardly been able to sleep since
for thinking of such villainy!
Achilles.
And besides that, my lord, he keeps down our
wages—and that shows affection to the state.
Archias.
Come, Philip—end this foolery: I see
Leontidas coming up the street.
Philip.
Well, my little heroes—depart now, and come again
to-morrow—and bring your master with you, and we'll try to
compromise matters.
Abas
(coming forward).
Their master is here, my lord—and
ready to answer all questions.
Philip.
What! art thou the traitor? But not now, Abas—
our time is pressing; get you hence. Have you the scroll
drawn out for the Archon, Philidas?
Philidas.
Just finished, my lord.
Abas.
You shall sing for this, my mighty men.
Achilles.
We don't care a thread for you! Philip will
compromise matters, and then you'll hang, you naughty old
tyrant!
Agam.
And if Philip doesn't, Telamon says if you offer to
prick us any more he'll strap you,—he will!
[Exeunt the Tailors and Telamon.
Philip, you too much sink from your high sphere
To bandy jokes with dirty knaves like these.
You're talk'd of for it.
Philip.
Grave, and reverend Greek!
Heav'n's grace assisting, we will mend that fault.
You also, solemn sir, are somewhat talk'd of
For sundry jokes that from your lofty sphere
Do make you bend;—though not with dirty knaves
But fair, clean ladies;—mend you also that!
Archias.
That sin's a flower grows in your garden too.
But you are still a wag.
(Enter Leontidas.)
Archias and Philip.
Good-morrow, Leontidas.
Leon.
Friends, good-morrow.
Archias.
What news from Sparta? Are our friends all well?
Philip.
How is the hero Phœbidas? poor fool!
I fear his welcome home was somewhat hot:
He look'd to have a warm one.
Leon.
In few words
If you will listen, I'll unfold you all.
But do not ask me now for argument
Why this was thus, ór thus:—nor question put
Of unessential things, which, when time serves,
I'll answer to the utmost; but not now:
My horses wait below,—and my great haste
Brooks no unheeded stop.
Archias.
We are dumb statues.
Leon.
In brief then, Phœbidas, for having fixed
In Sparta's crown so rich a gem as Thebes,
Must pay, for fine, a hundred thousand drachms.
Philip.
Why, that's most excellent!
Leon.
Ismenias—
This is good news—hath ended his bad life
Upon the scaffold.
Pluto comfort him!
Leon.
Touching the Exiles,—day by day have I
Made it my theme at Sparta,—that no hope
Of an enduring quietness can live
But in their death. And, ere I came away,
My strong solicitings had wrought so far,
That Sparta hath to Athens sent demand
To drive,—as enemies to all the states—
The Exiles from her walls. How this shall be,
Time must make seen. Now, since my going hence
Hath aught of such importanacy chanced,
It cannot wait my leisure?
Philip.
No, my lord.
Here's a brief scroll, drawn out by Philidas,
In which you may behold the course we've taken:
What traitors have been fined;—whom put to death;
Whom hold in prison yet:—and many names
Of men, on whom suspicion keeps close watch,
To spring upon their treasons. Philidas,—
If you would hear it, will run swiftly through,
Giving the general scope.
Leon.
Not now, good Philip.
Archias.
I'll shew you in two words. Three hundred fined;
Two hundred put to death;—in prison still
Four hundred, and four score.—You have it all.
Leon.
You have been active, gentlemen: and still
Must toil on in your course. There is no law
That binds down the fierce Democrat, but that
Which holds him in his grave. The prison bars
May let him forth;—the longest banishment
May have an end;—his stripes may be repaid
On us who gave them.—Lay him in the earth,
And he's your true and loyal slave for aye.
Adieu—adieu!
Archias and Philip.
Good-morrow, Leontidas.
Leon.
Philip, if you should pass my house to-night,
I've something for your private ear.
[Exit Leon.
Philip.
I will.
Now, Archias,—let's away. The populace
Will grow impatient if we stay the games
Much past the wonted time.
Archias.
Come then, at once.
Will you go with us, Philidas?
Philidas.
No, sirs.
And yet I will. You have a wager, Philip;—
I'll go to see you lose it.
Philip.
Thank you—thank you.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
—A Street in Thebes.(Enter Charon and Epaminondas.)
Epam.
Stay here a moment, where the space is free.
If I were sure what course the fire would take,
I'd help to kindle it. But oft it chances
That, putting flame unto the rotten wood
And choking brambles, the whole healthful forest
Shall catch the blaze, and perish with the rest.
Yet, in forbearance, there's a point to pause at,
Where to endure, is to deserve the wrong,
And I but ask, is this it?
Charon.
No! that point
Is past already. Not to strike at this,
Were to demand from Heaven a thousand whips
To scourge us hourly. For myself I speak not;—
Their policy,—or fear,—or else pure shame
To strike a neutral,—long and oft confess'd,—
Hath left me yet untouch'd. But, can I see
My friends—my neighbours,—plunder'd—fetter'd—scourg'd—
Put to a felon's death;—their children driven
Helpless to the rude world;—and all for sins
So fine to our dull sense, that, to behold them,
We must look at them through the tyrants' glass:—
And not risk all to mend them?
Epam.
Or make worse,—
That's the true question. Yet, so bad they are,—
I bid you not forbear:—and, if I still
Keep free of your designs,—'tis but to hold
A power to mediate 'twixt you, should you fail;—
Or, if the struggle waver, bring my sword
And life to help you on. 'Tis the last grain
That bows the strong-knee'd camel;—and one sword
Alighting on an even balanc'd fight,
Shall make the scale go down—What noise is this?
(Shouts are heard.)
Charon.
The Games are going on:—no—they are done;
The people flock this way. There's a new wrestler
From Sparta, who three days hath challeng'd all,
And been the victor. Philip brought him here,
And backs him 'gainst all comers.—Well, my friends,
How has the wrestling ended?
(Enter and pass over the stage several Theban Youths.)
Several voices
(shouting).
Thebes! Thebes! Thebes!
Charon.
What! has the Spartan been thrown down? Stay,
friend—
How has the wrestling ended?
Theban Youth.
Charon,—did'st ever see a child in anger
dash down the toy it had been playing with? Just so our
Theban champion, after amusing himself awhile with his proud
adversary, lifted him up from the earth, and then hurl'd him to
it again.—Such a fall hath not been seen. The Spartan will
never wrestle more:—Philip rages like a whirlwind.
Charon.
Who is this Theban champion?
Theban Youth.
No one knows; some rustic from the
mountains it is thought. There he is, turning the street;
he'll pass this way anon.
[Exit.
Several voices
(shouting).
Thebes—Thebes—Thebes—
Epam.
Which is the victor?—let me speak with him.
Theban Youth.
Epaminondas, this is he.
(Enter more Thebans, with the victor, his head crowned with flowers.)
Epam.
And thou
Hast foil'd the boastful Spartan! Thank thee, youth,
For teaching Thebans that they may be foiled;
And in a harder struggle, would they try it.
Come this way, youth, I would a word with thee.
Wrestler.
Go on, my gallant lads,—I'll follow you.
[Exeunt Theban Youths, crying, ‘Thebes—Thebes.’
Epam.
Thou art Pelopidas—deny it not—
Wrestler.
Not I!—no more than thou'rt Epaminondas!
What hath Pelopidas to do in Thebes?
Charon.
Great Jove be merciful! What dost thou here?
Pelop.
Walk through a charnel-house,—and see the tyrants
Make mockery with the bones. 'Tis pleasant, Charon—
We'll jest with theirs anon.
Epam.
Pelopidas!
Art thou gone mad?—Into a public show
To bring thyself,—even in thine enemy's eye.—
Beneath his very beard,—for the poor pride
Of victory o'er a wrestler!
Pelop.
But a Spartan!
'Twas Thebes 'gainst Sparta;—not Pelopidas
Against Opites.—Could I, tamely, hear
In Athens that a fourth time this proud bully,
With Philip at his back, had held the ring—
Defying Thebans in the heart of Thebes?
No—no! I'd gladly reason with thy head,—
But will not break my heart.—There is beside
A greater business on my hand than this.
Be thou there too,—for much I long to clasp
My dear friend to my heart.
Epam.
I fear some eye
May pierce, like mine, through thy disguise.
Pelop.
No—no—
'Tis but to cast this bauble from my head,
(Throws away the crown of flowers)
And I'm a noteless clown.—Were the black snake
To scan me now, he should not know me thus,
Were I resolv'd on't. I threw off disguise,
Looking upon thy face—or even thou
Hadst given, perchance, some oboli for drink
To the stout wrestler.
(Enter Philidas.)
Philidas.
Gentlemen, good-day.
Where be your colours, Charon?
Charon.
We wear none:—
Philip hath ours, and his—more than he likes—
Upon his champion's ribs.
Philidas.
By Jupiter, it was a glorious fling!
Philip hath lost five talents on that throw.
He's in a fever.
Pelop.
Let him lose some blood.
Epam.
(to Pelop.).
Come here, I pray you. (They whisper.)
Philidas.
Charon, who is yon clown
That talks so free of letting Philip blood?
Charon.
You do not know him?
Philidas.
No—and yet, I think—
Is't not the Theban wrestler?—Yea, by Jove!
I'm sure 'tis he. Good Charon, for that fling,
Give him a purse of gold—a heavy one;—
I'll be your debtor for it till to-night—
But name me not:—such gift, in Philip's ear,
Would sound but oddly.
I'll remember you.
What!—are you going?
Philidas.
Philip waits for me.
Their bloody scroll still lengthens every day.
Eight more were prick'd for death, but yester-morn;
To-day are four;—and twenty mark'd for fines,
Will crush them to the earth. My heart drops blood
While my unwilling pen records their dooms.
Dolops is mark'd for death: I've given him note,
And he is gone. If you see Merion,
Tell him, his gold, his jewels, and himself,
Were safer in the desert than at Thebes.
I'll call on you at night.
Charon.
Is there aught new?
You were at Athens since I saw you last.
Philidas.
I came back yesterday; and shall unload
My treasures to your ear anon. Take this
For present use.—I saw Pelopidas,
Melon, and Androclides, and the rest.
Their purpose is resolv'd;—their hearts are firm;
They wait but for the time. Another month
Will ripen thought to action. Fare you well.
Commend me to your friend. He seems intent
To learn a fall of that same bone-breaker.
Charon.
Adieu, good Philidas.—Don't fail to-night.
Philidas.
Depend on me.—I' faith an iron fellow!
I've seen him somewhere.
[Exit.
Pelop.
Well:—he knew me not.
Charon.
He says he saw you yesterday.
Pelop.
He did.
Epam.
Pelopidas, you have amaz'd me much.
Let's go with Charon now, and hear the rest.
Pelop.
Go on before then. I'll take this way round
And be with you anon.
Epam.
Walk heedfully.
Remember you're a clown.—
And clowns must walk
With sober step where lords may play the fool.
The clown shall stick to me, fear not. Adieu!
Charon and Epam.
Farewell—farewell!
[Charon and Epam. go out on one side, Pelopidas on the other.
Scene III.
—A room in the house of Archias.(Enter Archias, followed by Menon.)
Archias.
Tell Philip I'll be with him in an hour.
I'm wearied, and must rest ere I go forth.
And bring more lights;—and throw some cedar-wood
Upon the fire:—the night is wet and dark.
Menon.
Lights ho! It is, my lord, an awful night!
Did you see aught i' th' street, my lord?
Archias.
No, Menon.
What should I see?
Menon.
Some of our fellows tell
Of ghastly things abroad.
Archias.
What things?
Menon.
My lord—
You'll laugh, or else be angry.
Archias.
Tell thy tale;
Or I'll be angry now.
Menon.
They say, my lord,
That many, long since dead, were seen to-night:
Bodies that wanted heads:—and some with throats
Pinch'd where the cord had strangled them: and some . . .
Archias.
Peace, fool! Thou hast a body, but no head:
Yet no one makes a wonder of thee.—Here—
(Lights and fuel are brought in).
Bring round the couch before the fire. And Menon—
I'll taste the Cretan wine that came to-day
From Bias. Let me have the crystal bowl;
It shows the sparkling best: (aside)
and minds me too
To buy her husband's safety—till she learn'd
To pay in better coin. (Aloud)
Actor is dead.
Menon.
I thought, my lord, his sentence had been changed.
Archias.
It was. His wife and niece both sued to me,
And I had sworn to save him: but too late;
He was found dead in prison—starved to death.
Hath any one been here from Chromius?
Menon.
There's one, my lord, hath waited these four hours.
Archias.
Who is he?
Menon.
'Tis an aged man, my lord;
Grey-headed,—a tall man, but bent with years,
And very feeble. He's done nought but weep.
Archias.
And you've wept, too, for sympathy, no doubt!
Sweet, tender-hearted chick! 'Tis his old father,—
A proper messenger!—Bid him get home.
Say Chromius dies to-morrow, before noon;
Such is the law:—but let his daughter come
Betimes i' th' morning, and I'll talk with her
Touching her father's pardon.—Now get hence,
And let me alone.
[Exit Menon.
Come, little dove,—
I'll ope thy cage, and let thee forth awhile,
To strut and flutter till thy plumes are pluck'd;
And that shall be erelong.
(He unlocks and opens a door.)
Dear Thulia—
Sweet lady,—I would speak with you.—She sleeps;
Or will not answer me.—How the winds shriek!
And Jove is thundering overhead!—What now!
(Menon enters with wine, etc.)
Menon.
My lord, you call'd for wine.
Archias.
Then set it down.
And come no more till I shall summon you.
Menon.
There is a man below, my lord, who asks
To see you instantly.
I'll see no man!
This is the plague of office;—night and day,
To be the bell for every fool to ring.
To-morrow let him call.
Menon.
I told him so,
And said you were abroad: at which he laugh'd,
And swore I lied with a right modest face,
For he had seen you enter.
Archias.
What's his name?
Whence is he?—what's his business?
Menon.
He'll say nought,
But that he comes from Athens, and goes back
By day-break.
Archias.
Ha! from Athens? A low man
Is he?—broad-shoulder'd?—beetle-brow'd?
Menon.
The same.
A most ill-favoured man. You will not see him?
Archias.
Yes, Menon. Bring him in. He comes with news
From certain friends, and must be seen to-night.
[Exit Menon.
Now, Androclides—dost thou walk the earth?—
Or glide amid the shades? Oh! what small line
Divides the now, from the hereafter!—Hark!—
His foot is on the stair:—ere I count nine
It will be told me he is dead—or lives:—
Yet 'twixt the healthful breath, and the last sigh,
Perhaps was scantier space.—Well—well—what news?
(Enter a Murderer.)
Murderer.
'Tis done;—look here!—up to the handle red!
(Shewing a dagger.)
Archias.
Ha!—yes—it is so—put it by—
Murderer.
My lord,
You do not fear to look at—
Archias.
Is he dead?
Murderer.
Dead as my dagger's handle.
Did he die
At once? or linger from the stroke?
Murderer.
Why, hark—
'Twas in the night I struck him; at his door.
He fell against it, and the noise brought forth
His servants in alarm. I could not stay
To ask them if the job were to my mind,—
But from the stroke—'twas somewhere nigh the heart—
He must have died o' th'instant—aye, my lord,
Before the blade came out.
Archias.
Here—here—thy wages—
There are a thousand drachms:—leave off this trade,
And get a better.—Quit the house at once,
And speak to no one.
Murderer.
It would please me well
To have a better trade; yet this should do,—
Full work'd,—and at such wages. Thanks, my lord—
I will obey your wish. My lord, good-night.
A thousand drachms!
[Exit.
Archias.
Well!—how is't with me now?—I have sought this!
Why should I shake to hear it?—I'm a fool!—
What's in his death that it should scare me more
Than that of scores each day?—Yon murderer,—
Fresh from the deed,—and with the gory steel
Wrapp'd in his bosom,—gave me a ‘good-night’
As calm as the just man who leaves his child,
Bidding it trust in Heaven.—I'll shake off this.
What if I call his wife, and tell it her,—
And so get rid on't?—I will do't—Great Jove!
(He goes towards the door. Loud thunder is heard, and the room is bright with the lightning.)
Why art thou angry? (He looks out.)
All the heaven is fire!
And the winds howl and shriek as they were mad.
I cannot do't to-night: and yet I will;—
For she must hear it; and, the sooner told,
What noise is that?—By heav'ns! 'tis she—she sings—
Oh! God! it is the song her husband loved
Of his first wooing her by the sea-shore,—
And on the way to Corinth.—Not to-night:—
I cannot tell it her to-night!—Yet must:
The ill that we put off doth ever grow,
Like an untended wound, to worse disease.
I would this thing were yet to do.—'Tis done!—
I cannot turn time back,—or I would be
An infant now; and free of this.—Menon—
(Enter Menon.)
The door is barr'd within;—she will not speak.
Let her be told that I have news from Athens,
If she will come to hear it.
Menon.
There have been
Two messengers from Philip,—whom I told
You were retir'd,—but would be with him soon.
And now, my lord, he hath sent Philidas,
With positive command to bring you off.
He feasts to-night, and hath some Georgian nymphs
Just come—and you must see them.
Archias.
I'm not well,
But yet I'll visit him. Where's Philidas?
Menon.
In the gilt chamber.
Archias.
Beg him wait awhile
And I'll attend him.
[Exit Menon.
Philip's in a roar
Of jollity,—and yet to-day he lost
Five talents at the games;—and two old friends
Hath he impeach'd, to make those talents good
Out of their broken fortunes.
And Leontidas,—a strict, sober man,—
That worshippeth the Gods—and keepeth free
From wine, and women, and all sweet excess—
He's in his quiet bed,—his prayers put up—
Sent to their death three aged harmless men,
Whom we had wish'd to spare! Why then shall I,
Who have but slain the enemy that stood
'Tween me and Heaven, be thus remorseful?—Hence!
Thou idle idiot Conscience! I will be
Thy fool no longer.—Hark!—she comes!—Good wine,
Give me thy potent spirit,—for my own
Is weaker than an infant's. (He drinks eagerly.)
'Twas not she—
She will not come.—I do not feel this wine,—
My heart is cold, and trembling.—Here is some
Of fiercer ardour,—I will rouse this coward
Or burn him in his hole.—
(He drinks again, long and eagerly.)
Ha!—now I feel it.
Beautiful liquor! how thy nimble spirit
Glances through every vein and nerve!—Brave wine!
Thou'rt the soul's sunshine!—All, but now, was dark,
Dark as the grave!—I could have slunk away,
And hid in charnel-houses.—Now, I'm bold—
Light-hearted,—jovial—fit for Philip's rouse—
What care I if he's murder'd? (Loud thunder.)
Roar away—
Big, blust'ring Jove,—till thou art hoarse—I care not:
(Enter Thulia.)
He said he struck him to the heart—
Thulia.
Who's murder'd?
Archias.
Ha! lady—are you come?—'Tis very kind!—
(Pours out wine.)
Sit now, I pray you.
Thulia.
Sir, you sent for me,
To tell some news from Athens. How's my lord?—
Archias.
Lady—I pledge you. (Drinks.)
Thulia.
For soft pity's sake
Tell me—I beg you,—is my lord in health?
For God's love, speak!—Why do you look so wild?
(He drinks again.)
Archias.
Who heard me talk of murder?
Thulia.
I, my lord.
You said ‘he struck him to the heart.’
Archias.
'Tis false!
I had no hand in't.—Pour me out some wine,
And we'll be merry.—What's a murder now?—
Why, everybody's murder'd!—Sweet-lipp'd wench!
Thou'lt have a better husband soon than he—
Ha—ha—I pledge thee—
(He raises the bowl to drink. Thulia starts forward, and grasps his arm.)
Thulia.
Monster! hell dog!—speak,
Who has been murder'd?—Say it is not he—
Archias.
Why—who is murder'd now?—Give me some wine.
Thulia.
Beast! thou shalt drink no more till thou hast spoke.
Doth Androclides live?
Archias.
Ha—ha—you jest—
Why—he's been dead this month!—stabb'd to the heart,—
I' th' street—I saw the dagger—
(Thulia starts back, in speechless horror. Archias reels, and throws himself on a couch.)
Give me wine.—
Philip—I will not drink again.—Ha—ha—
Thou'lt tell his wife on't:—'twas at his own door—
Where be the Georgians?—Fill another bowl—
Dost know where he was buried?—Ha—ha—ha—
(To Thulia)
Philip's a changeful wag,—thou shalt be mine—
Aye—aye—that pleases thee.—But listen here.—
There's been a horrid murder somewhere—
[Thulia returns to her chamber.
Menon!
Menon—I say—I will go home.
Menon.
My lord?
Archias.
I will go home this instant.—Philip's drunk,
And gone to bed—and all his Georgians too—
I will not stay—
Menon.
My lord, you are not well.—
Philip hath not been here,—nor you with him:—
But he expects you. Philidas is come,
And waits to take you.—Shall I put him off—
And say you are not well?
Archias.
Ha!—is it so?—
Then I've been dreaming.—Go—call Philidas,
And I'll to Philip's revel—and we'll roar
[Exit Menon.
Till we fright back that thunder.—Philidas
(Enter Philidas.)
Come—we'll be merry.—Is the litter there?—
I cannot walk in such a burning sun—
Where are we going?—
Philidas.
Why, to Philip's revel.
But, Archias, you've been revelling already.
Archias.
I think so.—Is it common, when we're dead,
To ask our friends to drink with us?
Philidas.
How? how?—
Archias.
Why, Philip's murder'd:—here's been one to tell me.—
And now he bids me sup with him.—Mad wag!
Philidas
(going to the door).
Menon, call your fellows—get your lord
To bed, and let him rest an hour.—My lord,
Philip, o' th' sudden, is unwell,—and begs
You will not come to-night.—
Archias.
Ha—ha!—mad fellow!
He knows they stabb'd him to the heart!—Ha—ha—
Will Androclides ask me too,—I wonder:—
Pah!—I'll not sup with him!—Leave me to sleep.
(to Menon).
Get him to bed.
Menon.
He will not now be moved:—
He often slumbers thus.
Philidas.
Then leave him here.
[Exit Menon.
A cobbler had been fined for getting drunk;—
Aye, by a drunken magistrate—I've seen it.
And now for Philip. How he'll stare to hear
That he is stabb'd to th' heart!—Heav'ns!—what a beast!
[Exit.
(Thulia enters, wildly, with a dagger in her hand. She stands over the couch ready to strike.)
Thulia.
Foul murderer!—tyrant!—'tis thy latest sleep!
Thou wilt awake in hell!—
(She attempts to strike,—but starts back in horror.)
Oh! horrible!
Am I not mad?—Is this the gentle breast
That would have wept to see a sparrow die,—
And now with murtherous weapon comes to sink
A soul to endless tortures?—Androclides—
Thou'rt in Elysium—he sent thee there.—
Monster! fiend! miscreant!—But I will not curse;
Nor foul me with his blood—Sweet Heaven! have pity!—
And let me not be mad!—He may repent:—
I'll pray for him and me.
(She throws away the dagger, and kneels down.)
| Pelopidas ; Or, The Deliverance of Thebes | |